


In the Cold Light of Day

by TimeSquid



Category: Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Aftermath, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeSquid/pseuds/TimeSquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rest wouldn't come, not with the monsters still lurking in the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Cold Light of Day

Golden rays of sunlight streamed through the broken beams of the ship. Garrett blinked, slowly opening his eyes and squinting at the brightness, confused for a moment as to where he was. The Dawn’s Light. Erin. All at once, the memories came rushing over him. He could still feel echoes of the Primal surging through him, the burning in his eye, the nearly unbearable pain that had him doubling over. Orion turning into one of those _things_ – dying. Erin falling _again_. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to banish the memory. He had failed her again. He hadn’t been strong enough, hadn’t been quick enough. All this effort, the weeks spent searching for her, and in the end he’d let her fall. Moaning softly, he worked his elbows underneath him and gingerly lifted himself up. He was sore all over, exhaustion weighing like lead in his bones.

Muddy wet footsteps on the wooden planks next to him caught his eyes. Puzzled, he looked around. Orion’s lifeless body, twisted beyond recognition by the Primal, lay a short distance away from him, but the book was gone. Lifting his head, he found the Claw embedded in one of the support beams. Erin? Was she alive? He unsteadily got to his feet. Narrowing his eyes against the bright morning sun, he stared down at the roaring water below. Had she really survived that fall? Caught the Claw in time? Why had she left it behind? Garrett closed his eyes. Of course she had survived. She had never needed him to save her, she’d been perfectly capable of saving herself. All he’d done was … what? Unwittingly aided Orion, like an obedient dog. His chest tightened, guilt and the feeling of uselessness nearly crushing him.

Shoving it aside as best he could, he picked up the Claw. He had to get away from here – there had to be Graven still around, not to mention these _things_. Shuddering, he took one last glance at the thundering waves, then started to make his way back. The thought of having to backtrack through the catacombs and the hidden city underneath the old cathedral filled him with dread. It had been bad enough the first time, without the unshakeable tiredness pulling at him and his whole body aching. Dodging Graven and abominations, he eventually made it off the ship and into the catacombs. He was already fighting to stay awake. His eyelids were heavy, his reactions dangerously sluggish and his senses dulled. Several times he’d almost run into a threat, had almost gotten discovered when his usually keen ears failed to pick up the sound of footsteps or the horrible gurgling sound of the creatures. He needed to find some place to rest. Traversing the City in bright daylight was risky at the best of times, and in his current state it was suicide.

Finding a small cave branching off from the main tunnels of the Hidden City, he sank to the damp floor. This would have to do for now. He’d be safe here, at least for a while. Too worn out to notice the hard rocks digging into his ribs, he wrapped himself in his increasingly tattered cloak and curled up in a tight ball. Almost as soon as he’d closed his eyes ghostly images of twisted limbs and distorted bodies assaulted him. Glowing eyes staring at him from featureless faces, grabbing at him, tearing him apart. Erin’s voice, taunting him, mocking him while he struggled against the massive claws ripping him to shreds. Suddenly he was falling … falling into the roaring abyss—

Garrett jolted awake with a gasp. Panting, he sat up, leaning against the rough wall for support. He was still in the cave. He was alone. He was safe for the moment. But it had seemed so real, just like the other times – had all of it been just in his head? He shook himself. No. No matter how much he wished that these past few weeks had just been a nightmare, he knew they had been real. He had the scars to show for them. When his breathing had returned to normal and his heartbeat had slowed down again, he got to his feet. Clearly rest wouldn’t come. Not here, not with the monsters still lurking in the shadows. He briefly wondered whether the Thief-Taker General had gotten away before the Rotunda had collapsed, but he pushed the thought aside. It didn’t matter. Not with the Baron dead and the City in flames. Legs shaking from exhaustion, he continued onwards. He just had to get home, then he could rest and try to forget everything, like he’d made himself forget before. It was all he could ever do. Lock away the memories and move on.

The sun stood high on the horizon when Garrett emerged from the ruins of the old cathedral at long last. It had to be noon, or if he was lucky, early afternoon. Too early to get back to the Clock Tower in any case, but he could hardly stay here. The glaring brightness nearly blinded him, his sensitive eyes being used to the dark of night. After the climb, every muscle in his body screamed in protest, and he knew that when he could finally peel off the leather he’d find a number of fresh bruises from when Erin had thrown him across the room. The power she’d wielded had terrified him. Did she still have it? What did she intend to do? Where would she go? Wherever she was, she’d be better off without him. He’d only ever let her down. Her accusations still rang in his ears, her voice cruel and scornful. He knew he deserved it all. Ignoring the sudden shortness of breath and the burning behind his eyes, he squeezed between two stacks of crates and made his way to the gate to Old Quarter. He’d be glad to leave the cathedral and the horrors within behind.

Tugging his hood lower over his eyes to shield himself from the sun he peered through the rusted old gate. Fires were still blazing in some of the buildings. The streets were crowded with people trying to put them out or to save their meagre belongings. Children ran screaming in panic, with their mothers chasing after them. It was chaos. Garrett just hoped it would be chaos enough for him to slip by unnoticed. Keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact he threaded through the crowd and slunk into an alcove. He remembered coming through here on his way to the cathedral. One of his rope arrows still hung from a beam above, and he quickly clambered up into the abandoned apartment on the upper floor. He’d hole up here until nightfall, until it was safe to go out and make the climb up the Clock Tower.

Sleeping in what was probably a dead person’s bed was a bit awkward, but Garrett was too tired to care. He removed his bow and the leg holster and slumped down on the mattress. Even with the panicked screaming and shouted orders drifting in through the glassless windows, he fell asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow. Darkness enveloped him. He could see nothing but a pale blue light shimmering in the distance. Drawn towards it by some invisible force he approached it. It exploded in a great white blast of light, throwing him against the wall. When he lifted his head and looked up, he found himself in a stark white room. Erin was smiling down at him. No, not smiling. There was nothing kind about her expression. A vicious snarl twisted her face, and she reached toward him, her fingers like talons ripping into his flesh. He frantically scrambled to get away, but he couldn’t move. Something was gripping his legs, tangling around him like vines. He tore at the vines with all of the strength he could muster, but it was to no avail. They tightened around him, crushing him, squeezing the air from him. He couldn’t breathe, the pressure on his chest unrelenting. Smoke filled his lungs and he choked—

Garrett sat up with a start, gulping for air. Another nightmare. His throat was raw, but he couldn’t tell if it was from screaming in his sleep or from the smoke wafting in from the nearby burning houses. The room was bathed in an eerie orange glow. After several deep breaths he got up. Shaken and unsteady, he walked over and peered out of the window. It was still daytime, but the sun was beginning to set and the crowd had already begun to thin out. With the Graven riots and the Watch curfews still technically in effect, most decent citizens didn’t like to stay out too late. All the better for him. He definitely didn’t need any more excitement tonight. All he wanted was to get back to his Clock Tower and rest. Hopefully the soothing sounds of the gears and the familiar surroundings would banish the nightmares.

When it was finally dark enough to venture outside, Garrett cautiously made his way to Stonemarket. Some parts of Old Quarter were still burning, but the fires appeared to be under control for now. It was almost too quiet, the streets empty. The destruction around him was devastating. It would take months, maybe even years, to clean up and rebuild. Most of the Watch had been killed in the riots and what Graven remained in the City seemed to have gone back to their homes and families. Some desperate souls were already rummaging through the rubble, looting and scavenging just to survive, but they didn’t give Garrett any trouble. Sticking to the rooftops for as long as possible, he arrived at the base of the Clock Tower without incident. Almost home. He sighed as he looked up at the tower. A perfect hideout it may be, but it was at times like these that he almost wished he’d settled somewhere a bit closer to the ground. After more than two days without proper sleep or food, the thought of the long ascent was daunting. His muscles ached with fatigue, and he felt lightheaded, dizziness coming over him from time to time. He’d climbed the Clock Tower hundreds, maybe thousands of times before, was familiar with every crack and crevice, every loose stone in the crumbling façade, but he was still afraid he’d slip and lose his footing. There was nothing for it. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he took out the Claw and started to climb.

After several close calls, Garrett finally clambered through the window and landed on the wooden floor below in an undignified heap. Chest heaving and heart racing from adrenaline and exertion, it took him a while to gather enough strength to get up again. He sat with his back against the cool stone wall, trying to catch his breath and stop his head from spinning. Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d gone to the Crippled Burrick and spent the night there, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of facing Basso right now. The fence would be all questions, anxious to find out what had happened over the last few days. He hadn’t seen him since they’d returned from Moira, and in the meantime, the whole City had erupted into chaos. Garrett didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t even want to think about it. He needed some time alone, to put together the shattered pieces of his life and return to something resembling normalcy.

Getting off the floor with trembling limbs, he made his way to his living area downstairs. He didn’t bother with neatly putting everything away like he usually did, just stripped out of his armour and left it in a pile next to his bed. Washing and tidying up would have to wait until tomorrow. He fell into his bed and tugged the blanket over his head, curling up around his pillow. A sense of unease had already started to spread in his stomach, but he desperately needed to sleep. Concentrating on the familiar hum of the giant clockwork and the fluttering of bird wings in the rafters, he closed his eyes.

+++

“Get up, boy!”

Roused by an angry voice, Garrett climbed down from his bed, bare feet padding silently over the cold tile floor. Something was wrong. Where was everybody? Everything seemed frozen, not even the slightest breeze moving the air. Sickly blueish-green petals drifted as if in suspended animation. Garrett tried to run, but it felt as if he were moving through a thick, viscous liquid, slowing him to a crawl. After an eternity he reached the end of the featureless corridor. The thick steel door in front of him burst open, the metal warping under the pressure of bodies like melting wax that pounded against it. Clawed hands grabbed at him, dragged him to the floor and pinned him down.

He found himself strapped to some contraption, his legs and arms bound. Erin was bent over him, a syringe in her hand and a twisted snarl on her face. White-coated men held him down with a vice-like grip, their faces transforming before his eyes into something monstrous. Erin’s laugh, jeering and contemptuous, echoed off the tiled walls. He struggled, tried to squeeze his eyes shut against the needle that came closer and closer, but he wasn’t quick enough. His vision exploded into brilliant white.

Heat surged through him and he could feel the flames licking at his legs, taste the ash in his mouth. Stumbling blindly through the impenetrable haze, he ran. Burning timber crashed down all around him in syrupy slow motion. Ghostlike petals rained down on him, falling to the silvery floor beneath his feet. He tumbled over the edge along with the flowers, and darkness enveloped him. Voices permeated the inky blackness, hoarse from hours of screaming in fear and agony. Garrett cowered in the darkest corner of his bed as an otherworldly rumbling drowned out the cries. It left only dead silence as it passed. No sound, no sensation, nothing but darkness.

Garrett slowly became aware of a slight heaving motion. He clung to the rotting wooden railings as the movement became more forceful and wind whipped against his face, salt stinging in his eyes. The ship lurched, and he was thrown overboard. A hand caught his wrist. The ocean roared below him, deafening him as he dangled helplessly far above. He could feel the grip growing weaker, slipping—

The high-pitched scream still rang in Garrett’s ears as he started awake. He was drenched in cold sweat and shaking, his face wet with tears and his chest threatening to burst with his heart pounding wildly against it. His blankets were a tangled mess half wrapped around his limbs, and he struggled to get free of them, pushing them off to the end of the bed. They felt too much like restraints, too much like that contraption— Shuddering violently, Garrett shoved the thought away. He curled up in a tight ball around his clammy pillow, wrapping his arms around himself, but it did nothing for either warmth or comfort. His breath still came in ragged gasps and his body refused to stop trembling as he lay there, focusing on the familiar drone of the gears. The ghostly images of his nightmare lingered just beyond reach no matter how fiercely he tried to shake them off, ready to return the moment he closed his eyes. Restful sleep would not come anytime soon.

Limbs like lead and head pounding, Garrett dragged himself out of bed and stripped out of his sweat-soaked underclothes. A quick wash would make him feel better. Days of grime and ash and sweat clung to his skin. The water from his washbasin was freezing as he splashed it into his face, washing away dried tears and smudged makeup. He cleaned himself with the brush and sponge as best he could, longing for a hot bath as he stood shivering in the crisp autumn air. Feeling slightly more human once he was clean, he put on fresh clothes and dug out a warm blanket to drape over his shoulders to ward off the chill that crept through the cracks in the wall. He didn’t dare go back to bed, so he might as well do something productive and tidy up the mess he’d left before he went to sleep. A quick glance at the enormous clock indicated that it had only been three hours ago, but Garrett felt as if he’d been trapped inside the nightmare for days.

Putting away the dirty clothes he’d so carelessly discarded, his gaze came to rest on the Claw that had nearly rolled under the bed. His stomach did an uncomfortable flip. He still didn’t understand why Erin had left it for him. She resented him – no, hated him and everything he stood for, everything he’d done – she’d made that clear enough. Garrett winced at the memory. So why would she leave her precious Claw? It was what had started this entire mess in the first place. No. Not the Claw. Him. Him stealing it was what had started it. Garrett sank down onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. Just looking at the cursed thing was unbearable. He kicked it out of sight with one bare foot. He stubbed his toes in the process, but barely noticed the pain. Squeezing his eyes shut against the burning behind them he sat at the edge of the bed, trying to breathe past the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. When the knot in his stomach finally eased, he got to his feet and put away the rest of his things. He hung his harness up on a hook in one of the support posts. He wouldn’t need it, not tonight. Even mundane tasks like washing and tidying up had sapped what little energy he had, and the thought of going out and facing what was left of the City couldn’t be less appealing.

+++

Three days later Garrett had cleaned his entire living space from cobwebs and dead plants, fletched a new set of arrows and tended to his leather gear. The new Montonessi painting hung with the others, completing the collection he still wasn’t sure why he’d been so adamant to start. Sets of his most precious loot sat in newly polished cases, gleaming brilliantly in the evening sun that filtered in through the glass clock face. He’d even neatly put away all the books he’d found strewn across the floor on his return. Plagued by nightmares every time he closed his eyes, he’d avoided sleep as much as possible. He hadn’t ventured outside the Clock Tower. His food supplies were dwindling even though he hadn’t been able to stomach more than a few bites at a time ever since his return, but the thought of leaving his sanctuary was too daunting. There were always his books, but his over-tired brain refused to focus, the letters blurring before his eyes. He was running out of distractions.

A sound from near the window on the upper floor made him look up sharply. Quietly disentangling himself from the nest of blankets, he got up from the bed and crept towards the stairs. He looked up to see Jenivere sitting on the windowsill. No. Realisation hit him like a solid blow to his gut and he cringed. Poor Jenivere was dead. Another victim of all the mistakes he’d made. Slowly and silently so as not to startle the bird, he approached the magpie. A matchbox lay at its feet. So Basso had gotten himself a new messenger. The bird flapped its wings nervously and took off when Garrett reached out to take the matchbox. A short message was scrawled on the box in bold black letters.

_“Come see me when you get back.”_

With a deep sigh, Garrett trudged back down the stairs and crawled back into his nest of blankets. He was too tired, and the thought of all the sickness and destruction in the city too much to handle. Curling up in the warmth of his bed he tried to get back to his book, but he found himself reading the same page over and over again but unable to remember what it said.

_“You still away?”_

_“I need to talk to you as soon as possible.”_

_“Come see me, I have a job for you.”_

Every day, punctual as clockwork, the bird was back with a new message, but Garrett discarded them all. He wasn’t interested in a new job. Unable to sleep without being woken by nightmares after only an hour or two, he could barely keep his eyes open – work was out of the question. He turned the newest matchbox over in his hands. Reading it before throwing it into the fire was the least he could do.

 _“Are you dead?”_ it read.

An icy chill ran down Garrett’s back. He hadn’t even bothered to tell his fence he made it out of this whole mess alive. So many people had died from the gloom, from the riots. Fires had ravaged the City, and the Watch had hung every thief they’d been able to find. It was more likely he’d died than not. The fence would probably out of his mind with worry that his main source of income had been killed.

For the first time in over a week, Garrett took his armour off the hook and slipped into it. Tightening the laces of the harness at his sides he realised with some annoyance that it was becoming uncomfortably loose. At this rate he’d have to make adjustments to it soon, but for now he’d just have to make do. Deciding to leave the bow and arrows behind, he fastened the blackjack in its holster to his belt. Just in case. It wasn’t far to the Crippled Burrick, but it never hurt to be prepared. He paused. Digging through several chests and drawers, he found a spare grappling hook and secured it to his leg. Swallowing down the rising nausea, he climbed through the window and started the descent. Only the customary pair of Watch guards patrolled Clock Tower Plaza, the Graven all but gone. Even inattentive and clumsy with fatigue, Garrett had no trouble reaching the tavern undetected. He opened the door a crack and slipped through, squinting against the candlelight. Basso sat at his desk as usual, poring over a letter or some document with a worried expression. He jumped as he looked up and saw Garrett standing near the door.

“Garrett! Shit— I thought— I thought you’d been killed…” Basso stuttered, shock and confusion and something else that Garrett couldn’t quite place written on his face.

He started as the plump fence shot to his feet and closed the distance between them with surprising speed, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

“You little bastard! Where’ve you been?! I thought you’d died – _again_! You … you can’t keep doing that to me, my poor old heart can’t—“ He paused, staring at Garrett wide-eyed. Garrett averted his eyes, wishing he could melt away into the shadows. The rage had drained out of Basso’s voice by the time he continued. “What happened to you? You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Basso,” Garrett replied, going for his usual sarcastic tone but the words came out flat and hollow instead. Unable to look Basso in the eye, he turned and busied himself with a newspaper he found on one of the tables, leafing through it without reading. He flinched as a large hand came to rest on his shoulder and gently but insistently turned him around to face the other man.

“What happened, Garrett?” Basso asked once again. “How long have you been back for?”

Garrett ignored the first question, not sure he’d be able to keep his composure if he had to talk about it. It was fragile enough as it was. Resisting the urge to flee, to hide from Basso’s scrutinising gaze, he cleared his throat to answer.

“For about a week.”

“A week?! And you didn’t think to come down here and fucking tell me you’re alive?! I thought I’d lost you! After what happened last time … I’d have thought…” Basso trailed off and the grip on Garrett’s shoulder loosened. “Damnit, Garrett. Sit down before you fall down, you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Garrett shook his head, the motion making the room spin alarmingly. “I was just leaving.”

“What? You only just got here! Don’t you at least want to hear about that job?”

Leaning against the table as nonchalantly as he could manage to avoid an undignified tumble to the floor, Garrett shook his head once again.

“I’m not in the mood. See you, Basso.” He made to leave, but Basso’s heavy hand on his shoulder held him back.

“You’re not going anywhere. You actually haven’t slept in a week, have you? You look like death itself. No way I’m letting you go out there.”

Basso’s grip was firm but gentle. Garrett could have twisted out of it, but he was too tired to struggle. He let himself be led over to the rickety bed in the corner behind the desk, Basso’s arm around his waist disturbingly welcome support. Sitting down on the stained mattress, he braced his arms against his knees and rested his head in his hands, gaze fixed to the floor. Shame burned behind his eyes. Coming down here had been a mistake.

“Garrett? Garrett!” Basso’s voice penetrated the fog that clouded his mind. “Garrett, please tell me what happened. What about Erin?”

Garrett took a deep, shuddering breath. He drew his legs up towards his chest and wrapped his arms around them, making himself as small as possible. If only he could just vanish, meld into the darkness in a puff of smoke. He felt trapped, pinned like an insect in a museum under Basso’s scrutiny. He knew his fence deserved some explanation, but he couldn’t look at Basso as he answered.

“She’s alive.”

“You … don’t sound very happy about that.”

“It’s all my fault!” Garrett suddenly burst out, something splintering and breaking in his chest, driving searing spikes of pain through him. “Everything that happened – it was all my fault. If only I hadn’t stolen her Claw, if I had just listened to her … if I hadn’t…” The words dissolved into unintelligible mumblings, his throat too tight to form the proper sounds, too tight to breathe. Burying his face into his knees, Garrett hugged himself tighter. Maybe if he gripped his legs hard enough, he wouldn’t break apart.

Basso knelt in front of him with a pained groan. “Stop it, Garrett. You can’t blame yourself for everything. Why don’t you tell me what happened? Did you find Erin?”

“Yes,” Garrett said to his knees. “Orion was using her.”

Basso’s eyes widened. “Orion? That dirty son of a Burrick! I knew something was up when his Graven started rioting and burning down the City, but what did he want with Erin?”

“He thought she could help him cure the Gloom. In the end, I suppose he just wanted her power.” Bitterness crept into Garrett’s voice, and he let out a shaky laugh. “Isn’t that all anyone ever wants?”

“ _You_ don’t.” Basso gave a slight chuckle. “Look, Garrett, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, but I know you. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”

“You weren’t there, you didn’t see those creatures! You didn’t see what they did to her. I failed her _again_ , Basso!” Garrett couldn’t help his voice rising in pitch. Hysteria threatened to take over, lurking just at the edges of his overworked mind. He forced himself to get his breathing under control and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, a treacherous heat prickling behind them. “She thought I didn’t care. She thought I wanted to kill her,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“She what? Why would you…?” Basso spluttered. He gently gripped Garrett’s arms and drew them away to reveal his face. “Garrett, you’re not making any sense. But you look as if you’re about to keel over. I’ll have one of the boys fetch you some food, and then you need to get some rest.”

Garrett obediently waited while Basso stuck his head outside and sent one of the urchins, who usually hung around in the alley behind the Burrick, up to the tavern. Loath as he was to admit it, he was starving. Perhaps a warm meal would ease the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t realise he’d dozed off until Basso shook his shoulders and held out a steaming bowl.

“Sorry to wake you, but you’ll want to eat this while it’s hot.”

Neither of them said anything while Garrett ate. When he’d finished the soup he felt marginally better, the warmth making him drowsy. After a week of subsisting only on his diminishing supply of dried meat, the thick broth with unidentifiable chunks of vegetables sat heavily in his stomach. It was getting more and more difficult to keep his eyes open, and he barely registered Basso taking the empty bowl from him and setting it down on the desk.

“Why don’t you lie down for a bit, get some rest? I’ll close up shop for a while so no one will bother you. It’s been a slow day so far anyway. Damn Graven haven’t exactly been good for business.” Basso sighed.

The suggestion of sleeping was enough to snap Garrett out of his comfortable haze.

“No!” It came out almost as a yelp, and he fought to get his voice under control before he continued. “No, I can’t, I’ll just … I need to get back to—“

He made to get up, but Basso stalled him, the large hands heavy on his shoulders. Putting up a fight required more energy than he could muster, so Garrett let himself be pushed back down onto the mattress with only minimal resistance. Resigned to the inevitable, he didn’t protest as Basso removed his blackjack and grappling hook and draped a blanket over him. His last conscious thought was that it would be uncomfortable to sleep in his harness, then fatigue and drowsiness won out and he drifted off.

Darkness shrouded him like a veil, the faint crackle of electricity the only thing Garrett could make out. An inhuman scream ripped the air and cold, harsh light flickered to life, bolts of pain jolting through his body. He doubled over, curling up on the floor in a tight ball. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed off the tiled walls and Garrett knew he had to get away, escape the white-coated men before they hurt him more. But his body didn’t obey, his limbs too weak to support him. A voice drifted to his ears, distant and ghostlike. “Don’t show them you’re scared. Don’t let them see you lose control.” He struggled to get to his feet, trying to ignore the voice, but it persisted. “You understand the fear, don’t you, Garrett? The fear of being trapped? Of being used? It hurts to be betrayed, doesn’t it?” Giant hands held him down as he twisted and writhed, the voice getting closer and closer until it was nearly shouting into his ear. “Garrett, wake up! You have to wake up!”

“Basso?” Garrett croaked, blinking up at the fence in confusion. It took him a moment to remember where he was.

“You were having a nightmare. Here, drink this.” Basso’s usually gruff voice was soft with concern as he handed Garrett a glass of water. “So this is why you aren’t sleeping.”

Willing his hands to stop shaking for just a moment, Garrett accepted the glass and greedily gulped down its entire contents in one go. His throat was sore and he knew he’d been screaming in his sleep again. He was just grateful Basso hadn’t mentioned it. Yet. Rubbing his eyes to clear his vision, he was mortified to find them wet with tears, and he quickly wiped them away. Only when his fingers came away stained black did he realise that he’d probably just made things worse. It hardly mattered. Basso had surely noticed already. Cheeks burning, Garrett lowered his head, staring at the blanket that lay tangled around his legs. He almost didn’t notice when Basso handed him a handkerchief.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through, but you’re safe now, Garrett,” Basso began. Garrett didn’t look up, rubbing furiously at his face instead. “You just need some time to recover. If there’s anything I can do to help—”

“I can deal with it,” Garrett muttered.

“Yeah, sure,” Basso snorted. “Avoiding sleep until you pass out from exhaustion isn’t dealing with it, Garrett.”

“What do you expect me to do? Write a poem about it?”

“Well, talking would be a start. Locking yourself away in your Clock Tower to stew in your own juices clearly doesn’t do you any good. You may barely look it anymore, but you’re still human, Garrett. Even you need people sometimes.”

Garrett didn’t respond, glaring at the stained handkerchief in his hands. The Queen of Beggars had said the same thing. But what had happened with Erin had only been further proof that getting close to anyone could only end in pain for everyone involved. He crumpled the fabric into a tight ball.

“People don’t need me.”

“Garrett…” Basso sighed deeply and flopped down in his chair. “You know that’s not true. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you, and Erin—”

“Erin hates me,” Garrett interrupted. “She tried to kill me. She thought _I_ was going to kill _her_ , that I only wanted her power. Just like Orion and the Baron. She doesn’t need me, she’s better off without me. I got us into this whole mess in the first place.”

“Then she doesn’t know you at all. Look, I don’t know what power you’re talking about, but you have to stop blaming yourself for everything. It wasn’t your fault. Now, you can either shut yourself away in that draughty tower of yours and make yourself miserable, or you accept that you can’t change what’s happened and move on.”

Garrett swallowed past the lump in his throat with some difficulty. “I only tried to help…”

“You did all you could, that’s all anyone can ask.”

“It wasn’t enough.” The words left a bitter taste in Garrett’s mouth as he spat them out.

“You nearly got yourself killed! What more do you possibly think could you have done? What do you think should you have done different?” Basso asked.

Drawing up his knees to his chest, Garrett discarded the handkerchief and discovered his fingers were blackened from fiddling with it. He picked at his fingernails, stalling for time. He needed to think, but his head felt stuffed with cotton wool, his thoughts going in circles. “I … don’t know. If I hadn’t stolen her Claw…”

“You only did what you thought was best. You didn’t know what would happen. None of us knew. Look, I sent you on this job in the first place. I introduced you to Orion, for fuck’s sake. Doesn’t make all this my fault, and neither is it yours. And who knows what would’ve happened had the Baron completed this ritual of his? It might’ve been worse.”

“How could it be worse?” Garrett almost laughed.

Basso frowned, then raised one bushy eyebrow. “You could be dead.”

When Garrett didn’t immediately respond, Basso exploded. “Don’t you even dare say it!” He quickly lowered his voice as Garrett flinched. “Do you really think I only care about the loot you bring in? You’re my friend, Garrett. I know you don’t have those, what with you being the mysterious and aloof Master Thief and all that, but people do care about you. I can’t speak for Erin, but I know I do.”

Garrett sat in a daze, his mind reeling. Basso didn’t make any sense. Nothing made any sense anymore, not since he’d woken up in that cart. Every time he found his footing the floor was pulled away from underneath his feet again. He just wanted this madness to stop, his life to return to normal.

“Now go back to sleep, Garrett. Things will look better once you’re rested. I’ll wake you if you…” Basso trailed off and coughed. “…you know.”

“I’m not—” Garrett started to argue, but he stopped himself. It was pointless. Basso had already seen him at his worst, and exhaustion still surged through him in waves. “Fine,” he muttered.

He made to lie down, shaking out the knotted blanket and drawing it over himself when Basso laughed. Confused, Garrett blinked up at the fence.

“You afraid of falling out of bed? Take off that harness,” Basso said as he pinched out the candle on his desk. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how loose it is. Won’t do you much good if you fall. I’ll have breakfast for you when you wake up, and then I need to tell you about this job.”

Garrett reluctantly untied the laces and slipped the harness over his head. Without the reassuring weight of the thick leather around his middle he felt too vulnerable, almost exposed. Under any other circumstances he wouldn’t sleep anywhere but in the sanctuary of his Clock Tower, would never allow himself to be so defenceless in front of anyone. This entire blasted situation went against all the self-imposed rules he’d relied on for survival ever since he’d fled the orphanage. But he knew he was safe here. He could trust Basso. Handing the harness to his friend, Garrett slipped back under the blanket and tugged it nearly all the way up over his head. He curled up around the lumpy pillow, and within moments he drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal thanks to [Haethel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talitha_kumi/pseuds/Haethel) and [Brohne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brohne/pseuds/brohne) for editing and support in general!


End file.
